Beet It!
by DemyxTheMenace
Summary: "If there was one thing on the planet Clint Barton would heartlessly eliminate for the better of humanity (with or without his bow) it would be beets." Just a cute little Avengers one-shot I came up with. Enjoy.


Title: Beet It!

Rating: PG

Pairing: None, except Clintasha bromance and _can_ be seen as Pre-Bruce/Clint if you roll over twice and clap your hands in a circle counter clockwise. Or you could just say they're bros. But honestly, I dig the Hulkeye.

Characters: Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff (mentions), Tony Stark (mentions), Thor (mentions), Steve Rogers (mentions)

Summary: If there was one thing on the planet Clint Barton would heartlessly eliminate for the better of humanity (with or without his bow) it would be beets.

Notes: Right, so this was inspired by my hatred of beets and the fact that there were some in my fridge in a jar. The following is a true story told with a different cast. The Avengers belong to Marvel and whoever is associated with them and I promise that if I wanted to make money, writing fanfiction would not be how I would go about it.

* * *

If there was one thing on the planet Clint Barton would heartlessly eliminate for the better of humanity (with or without his bow) it would be beets. Don't get him wrong, all props go to purple produce (because let's face it, purple _is _the best color) just don't expect him to go out of his way to munch the disgusting tubers. Clint could honestly say he might divulge S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets if ever forced to eat one. If you asked him he would vehemently deny having any such nightmares of a beet-full interrogation, but he _is_ a deadly assassin, so if anyone who stumbled upon this fact did try to use it against him they would fear for their life should they ever utter a syllable about the subject. Clint could be a vengerful bastard when he needed to be. He often pondered on whether that was why he was still considered a superhero (they are the _Avengers_).

Natasha knew (and didn't approve, especially considering that beets were a staple in her Russian childhood), but then again, there was little about Clint she didn't know. There might be a few stray bits of trivia Clint considered either too embarassing or even too personal for the archer to find it in him to tell her. Mostly though, he kept his ill-feelings towards the vegetable under wraps lest Tony find out. The mechanic would mercilessly tease and taunt Clint about it and he really just didn't have the time or energy to fight the ever-present urge to punch the billionaire in the face. And that wouldn't be good for anybody. He still loved the 'guy-time' he and Tony shared by drinking too much beer and watching a lot of action-movies (their latest being the entirety of the Bond-franchise) but sometimes, too much is too much.

Safe to say, Clint Barton hated beets and, in no short terms, did his damndest to keep that to himself.

Bruce Banner, on the other hand, couldn't find a single thing wrong with beets, and loved them with an intensity that rivaled that of his research, which, when one thinks about it, is a whole-freaking-lot. Being on the run (and vegetarian) helped kindle this accumulated fondness, but only after living in Stark tower with the rest of the Avengers with billions of dollars at their disposal really solidified it. Bruce even started keeping jars in all the refrigerators he frequented. Especially the mini-fridge Tony gifted him in the doctor's personal lab.

In the main fridge (or the one that had an almost walk-in depth located near the common room) there housed such a jar of Bruce's. It was even labeled as such because Thor had the untreatable habit of eating whatever wasn't previously claimed, even if it had been sitting for a suspicious amount of time. But the lot of them had agreed never to bring up The Case Of The Mysterious Tuna Salad Sandwich again. Clint got a major case of the creeps when he even briefly remembered the subject.

After that, frankly horrifying event, Tony (it had been determined that it had been _his_ sandwich) and the rest of the Avengers had taken to writing on post-it's or taping spare bits of paper with their names on them to their snack of choice. Clint, prone to ignoring such labels in favor of instigating food wars between Iron Man and the Thunder God, found the nondescript jar of beets one day in search for sustenance. It was a new container, with a tag that read, "Bruce's beets: Beware of Hulk," in a neat, if almost exaggerated scrawl.

Never one to ignore an opprotunity to deface the purple menace, Clint took a moment to look around and make sure he would be aware if anyone tried to interrupt his fun. After he was assured no one could sneak up on him, he placed the jar out of range of Jarvis's camera and dug around for tape and a marker. Clint perched on the counter across from the fridge and under the cabinet to stay out of the camera angle as he drew out a new label, mimicking Bruce's hand writing (quite well, if he did say so himself). Smirking deviously, the archer snatched up Steve's dried pinnapple on his way out of the kitchen to deposit the jar in Bruce's mini-fridge.

Clint was almost worried at how easily he snuck the jar into Bruce's personal lab, while the doctor himself dozed with half his face on a colorful-looking science magazine and a hand-written journal, pen still in hand. Clint had to smile at the fact that it was a purple pen, and certainly not the way drool sparkled on Bruce's pink lips and smudged some ink onto his cheek.

At least a week passed after Clint's little prank and he was half-disappointed and half-bored: the former because he'd been proud of that particular stunt and the latter because nothing else interesting had happened since and he couldn't be counted on to entertain himself _all_ the time.

It was only mere hours after the 'one week' mark, though, that Clint returned to swindling his teammates food, this time in the wee hours of the morning. His insomnia had gotten the best of him and all he wanted was to kick back in the media room to watch re-runs of Friends with a bowl of chocolate milk-drenched Lucky Charms.

Clint was idly wondering which Friends episode would be on first as he rummaged around for the big box of his personal Lucky Charms (he thought better of taking Thor's carefully sorted just-marshmallow cereal) and dug a dark purple bowl out of the cabinet. Clint moved to the fridge when Bruce padded in, barefoot in his rumpled olive green button-up and slacks. He'd obviously been napping in his lab (again) when he was struck with what Clint assumed was a similar brand of munchies that had hit him.

Bruce flashed Clint an awkwardly sleepy smile and uttered a small, almost shy "hello," as the doctor gently pressed past him to grab a container of apricot jelly and some organic peanut-butter. Clint dignified the greeting with a grunt and nod, too engrossed in his dairy beverage search to really notice. Bruce raised an eyebrow but left the archer to do whatever he was doing and moved to the pantry for the whole-wheat bread.

Bruce continued to stare curiously though, all throughout his PB&J preparation and even after he'd taken the first few bites. Clint ignored him for the first couple minutes in favor of rummaging around in the fridge some more. Then Clint let out the most exhaustedly-annoyed huff he could muster and stood with his hands on either side of the refrigerator door. He stared with the full force of his grey-blue gaze, like he could will his chocolate milk into existence.

(It could have been totally possible. After all his time spent around those super-hero-types, you never know. Maybe when he was in Bruce's lab he breathed in a toxic gas that gave him the power of teleportation of dairy products. Or like, the Force or something.)

Bruce took the effort of swallowing his bite before quietly commenting, "My mom always told me I let all the penguins out when I stood with the fridge open."

Clint wanted to laugh. He did, truly, because he was tired and that was actually kind of amusing, but he was lamenting the fact that his drink disappeared at the moment. So he childishly slammed the door and sunk into the seat across from the other man, sticking his tongue out in a burst of maturity when Bruce disguised his chuckle as a cough. Bruce, ever the quiet observer, simply watched as Clint started separating his cereal into marshmallows and actual cereal (he should have taken Thor's...).

"What were you looking for?" Bruce tried. He sounded amused, beneath the sleepy tone and Clint cast a suspicious glare over his work.

"M' chocolate milk. It was right next to 'Tasha's imported coffee creamer." Clint trailed off, his gaze sliding longingly over to the fridge.

Bruce expelled his quiet chuckle, undisguised this time, and set down his sandwich, a conspiratorial glint sparkling in his brown eyes. Clint distractedly noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. He hadn't realized he'd stopped his sorting but held onto his confused frown and waited. Bruce smiled again briefly before stating, "Tony found the kitchen footage from the past week to figure out who'd been nabbing his stash of Mars Bars. So he decided payback in the form of eating all _your_ snacks was suitable."

Clint groaned, his head falling heavily into his hands. The only response he got was the short bark of laughter from Bruce, like he was surprised he would think the scenario was funny (Clint certainly didn't think so). Clint mumbled words of mourning and Bruce went right back to his sandwich.

The assasin continued lamenting letting his guard down and being caught red-handed _stealing food_, no less, and he called himself a secret agent? Bruce, around the last of his PB&J made an inquisitive noise.

"I've been meaning to ask you..." Clint peeked through his fingers at the dark-haired man to show he was listening. He was rewarded with the full-force of those brown eyes. "Why didn't you just tell me you didn't like beets?"

If Clint had been eating something he might've spat it back out. For all his surprise, he still maintained his aloof-eloquence and squeaked out a, "Que?"

"The jar in my fridge. I asked Jarvis and he told me you snuck in while I was sleeping." (Clint raised his eyes to the ceiling in a silent curse to the AI. Tony probably told Jarvis to monitor him, the paranoid bastard.) "What did you call them again? Devil's food?" Bruce pointed to the side of the sink where the half-full container sat, unassuming and small, and pointedly missing it's label. Clint glared.

"Evil incarnate-." Clint corrected automatically. He was caught in Bruce's knowing smile, blushing up to his ears. "I didn't put that."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him but wiped up his crumbs and proceeded into the hallway anyway, Clint shaking himself of his embarrased shock.

"Hey wait! You're not gonna take your Satanic tubers with you?" The archer called after Bruce.

A snort of laughter floated back to him and Clint grinned: He might've found a new hobby.


End file.
